


OSS #10 Post-Season 6 Angst

by somewhereelse



Series: bee-eye-en-gee-oh [10]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Mild Language, Olicity Summer Sizzle, Post-Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 14:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19814671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somewhereelse/pseuds/somewhereelse
Summary: Season 6.5. Safely tucked away in Hope Springs, Felicity receives a phone call from an unknown number for a long overdue conversation.





	OSS #10 Post-Season 6 Angst

**Author's Note:**

> The tags give it away. Like I’ve ever been able to write true angst.

Felicity’s just wrapping up a shift when her phone buzzes with an unknown number. She hangs her apron on a hook then slides out the back door, all the while her thumb hovers over the Accept button.

In another life, she wouldn’t hesitate to reject an unknown caller, but this place is different.

Here, she has a troubled boy, awkwardly but certainly making his way into a troubled young man. A revised version of the Britney Spears song pops into her head, and she shakes it away. William, regardless of maturity level, relies on her, and the formerly sweet, withdrawn boy is the reason she’s taken to answering unknown calls.

Don’t get her wrong. William’s still sweet to her, still thoughtful and intelligent and all those qualities that seemed to be a combination of the very best of Oliver and Samantha. But away from her, he’s different.

William’s surly and prone to aggression, angry and keen on lonerism. At first, his new school chalked it up to teenage hormones and an unfamiliar location. They were even more willing to turn a blind eye because of how so, so bright he is. But after nearly a month of unchanged behavior, they began making her aware of his attitude and the pressing need for adjustment.

Felicity didn’t believe them at first. William refused to fight back against bullies in Star City and put himself in danger to help one of his tormentors. That boy couldn’t possibly be the same one who picked a fight with the biggest, loudest kid in school, who walked out of class when a teacher berated another student for not knowing the answer. After countless calls from disgruntled teachers and concerned counselors and angry parents, she started taking them seriously and realized that, in the oddest of ways, William was emulating his father even as he resented Oliver for abandoning them.

Her phone buzzes again, and she glares at it. She’s out of her depth here and doesn’t know what to do. She knows why William is acting like this, knows what will get him to stop, and knows there isn’t a chance in hell of it happening. With Oliver’s release entirely off the table—for the moment at least—she’s no idea how to navigate this new world of single parenting.

There is one thing she’s relatively certain about. Ignoring the problem isn’t going to solve it. So she’ll answer the call, figure out what mischief William’s gotten into today, and make vague overtures at talking to him tonight. The kid’s not stupid. He knows he’s getting in trouble but he just doesn’t seem to care.

What she wouldn’t give for ten minutes to call her mom, apologize profusely, and beg for advice.

“Hello?”

In this podunk town, people still struggle with even the basics of technology so she waits a few seconds before trying again. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

The heavy breathing she assumed was static comes to a halt. If this is Curtis or Rene or even John, she’s going to rip them a new one next time she sees them. Which could be years but, you know, it’s always nice to have goals.

“Hel—”

“Felicity.” His voice is rough with disuse and garbled from the static and a truck that chooses right then to drive by.

She would recognize it anywhere.

“Oliver?” Her own voice is breathless with disbelief and, yeah, the after effects of feeling like she’s been punched in the gut. The heavy breathing resumes for long seconds. “If this is a joke, I swear I will—”

“I love you.”

If she thought she was breathless before, now it feels like someone repeatedly stomping on her kidneys. It’s not because she hasn’t heard those words from her husband in almost half a year or because they were robbed of the precious seconds to share that sentiment before he was taken away. That’s not what steals her breath, her very soul protesting more adamantly than the first time he said—and _meant_ —those words before walking towards certain death. 

It’s because Oliver means it as goodbye.

“We had a great story.”

She knows what he’ll say next, but this is _not_ how their story ends. With him in maximum security prison and no chance at freedom and her in protective custody, wearing clothes that feel even more like a mask than her college goth days—if only because of the appalling absence of her wedding ring—and standing next to a dumpster behind a coffee shop in Middle-of-Nowheresville.

“ _Have_ ,” she corrects insistently. “I want to hear how it ends.”

“You’re about to.”

He doesn’t mean it as a threat, but with his roughened voice pitched low, it sounds like one.

“No,” Felicity denies. “You want to hear a story? How about the one about the kid whose Mom died and Dad turned himself into federal custody and now he’s completely lost?”

The words come out harsher and more accusatory than she intended, but fuck this. Fuck Oliver. He doesn’t get to dictate their lives _again_ while being completely separated from the consequences.

“He bought a green hoodie and he’s running around wearing it like some kind of teenaged Green Arrow. He wants to learn self-defense or karate or something, but I’m terrified, Oliver. I’m terrified because no one here understands how much he has to be angry about, how much he needs help and discipline before he can be taught how to inflict pain. I’m terrified he’s going to pick a fight he can’t win and he won’t come home. I’ll lose him and I’ll lose the only part of you I have with me right now.”

Felicity sucks in a deep breath, ignoring the fact that she’s crying right now. Hell, she’s ignoring the fact that she can hear _Oliver_ crying. The idea of their family reunion is the only thing keeping her going these days, and he’s not going to take that hope away out of some strange desire to be the ultimate martyr.

“So, no. No, you do not get to end our _marriage_ over the phone while I raise your child and you sit in maximum security prison. This is _not_ how our story ends. Not while there’s still hope left.”

He’s silent for a long minute. She thinks maybe he’s hung up on her or maybe the prison disconnected the call. Then, softly, “There is no hope left.”

“I’m sorry,” the sarcasm makes her voice loud and strident, “Are you dead? Is this you contacting me from beyond the grave? Do I need to find a calling card for the afterlife?” 

There it is. That quiet, little huff that encapsulates his amusement, frustration, fondness, and exasperation all at once. 

“No? Then there’s still hope.”

Again, he fails to respond. Felicity can imagine the stubborn shake of his head at the same time he’d be looking at her with imploring eyes, waiting for her to change his mind.

“Listen to me very carefully, Oliver. For the sake of our marriage, despite how very little you seem to respect it right now, please do not presume to make decisions for me again. It doesn’t seem to go very well. Not for you, not for me, not for William. So the next time you call me—I don’t even know how John got you this number—it better be to say hi to William and update us on how we’re all going to come home.”

There isn’t even a pause. His voice is clear as a bell and makes her heart skip—in a _good_ way. She smiles the moment he starts saying her name.

“Felicity? I love you.”

This time, it sounds like a promise.


End file.
